


Late Nights, Dirt Roads

by itendswithz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Actor Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Gen, Hale Family Feels, No Hale Fire, Police Officer Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:46:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7065793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itendswithz/pseuds/itendswithz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s sped through these backroads for almost a month now and the worst thing to happen was thick dirt caking on the camaro's sides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Nights, Dirt Roads

**Author's Note:**

> Me: maybe I should finish some fics.....  
> Also me: writes 3,000 words of a new fic
> 
> Also, as of January 2016, everything about the walruses is factually true. Scientists can't agree if they're a unique subspecies or not.

Derek parks the camaro next to Laura’s Prius, letting the keys dangle from the ignition. He doesn’t dare turn the car off though -- despite the headlights shining bright as beacons -- it’s only 11:07 and Alpha could still be awake. She’s usually in bed by 10 but tomorrow is a special day.

“I’m sorry,” Cora says, laying her left hand on his right forearm. She’s not looking towards him, instead staring straight ahead at their childhood home and his current place of residence.

“Don’t be,” he responds smiling at her where black nails clash with tan skin. Alpha hates it when her daughters paint their fingernails. “This is wonderful news. You’re grant funded.”

“But I’m leaving you alone with her.”

“Dad’s here,” he tries to argue but it sounds pathetic and fake even to his ears.

“Derek.”

He doesn’t have a response to that. Doesn’t know how to tell his little sister that she shouldn’t have to worry about him, especially since it’s not true. They sit in silence for a while longer before he turns, angling his body towards her. “Tell me again, what makes these walruses special?”

It’s a lame attempt to change the subject but Cora takes pity on him. Moving so she’s facing him, she explains.

“Odobenus _rosmarus laptevi_ are a scientific mystery. No one can agree on them because getting a significant DNA sample has been impossible. Without the DNA, we can’t determine if they’re actually a subspecies of _Odobenus rosmarus_ or members of the Odobenus _rosmarus divergens_ subspecies. It’s so weird because walruses don’t migrate. They follow the tide but don’t really travel -- not like whales. And the colony at Latev Sea is more than 2,000 miles away from the colony living in Diomede. The expedition will take us to Laptev Sea and when we’re successful, we finally have an answer to the question about the number of walrus subspecies living on Earth.”

She pauses to take a breath and Derek fights off a smile. Seeing her arms wave to emphasize a point or how her eyes sparkle when she explains the significance of a third walrus subspecies makes Derek glad she won her grant. Her whole future is in front of her and if Cora is right, she’s going to have endless opportunities to make scientific discoveries in the next 80 years of her life.

She had called home squealing, joy flowing through the pack bonds. Apparently her theory that walruses have a hierarchy similar to werewolves and past expeditions had failed because the alpha male walrus viewed alpha scientists as a threat stuck a cord with the committee. Her solution of using a team of unmated beta females and female human to infiltrate the herd had been the right side of pro-female STEM promising to bring positive press had been the deciding factor, securing her and her lab partners funding.

He’s not quite ready to believe her private prolixus about how walruses and werewolves share a common ancestor and that the evolutionary tree doesn’t divide humans from werewolves but Cora is the one with Masters in Marine Biology and Mammalian Phylogenetics from UCLA.

“The board ate that pro-female shit up,” Cora say, continuing her story, unaware that Derek tuned out for a bit. He’s heard the tale of Grant Approval enough to know what he’s missed. This time he allows the curve of lips before speaking.

“You always had a flare for the dramatic.”

“Hey!” She says with fake indignation. “I’m not the only who became an actor.”

“I didn’t either.” It slips out before he can stop himself.

“Derek! Don’t say that! You’ll get your big break,” her voice dropping to something soft and gentle.

He doesn’t respond, just lets an awkward silence settle between them. It’s not Cora’s fault he decided against college to become an actor, that he blew his college fund on a flashy car because he thought it would help him land roles. The only person he can blame his failed career on is his untalented ass.

“Hey!” Cora says breaking into his thoughts. “You **will** get your big break. Just give it time. Don’t forget you were that weird vampire coach in that baseball film.”

She smiles, waiting for him to repeat the only lines he had in _Counting Bases_. When he doesn’t, she starts.

“One baseball! Ha ha ha,” comes out in the worst attempt he’s ever heard of Count Coach.

“Two baseball! Ha ha ha,” she says smirking, holding up two fingers.

She pauses, looks at him expectantly and he can’t resist her. Never could.

Simultaneously, they say his final line, “Three baseball! Ha ha ha!”

Derek finds himself laughing afterwards, glad the single role he was able to land can make his youngest sister smile. He just hopes she never finds out he only got the part because he promised to blow the director and lead actor.

“Alright,” Cora says grabbing her purse. “Time for bed.”

She unbuckles and opens the door, clearly expecting Derek to follow.

“Actually,” Derek says, “I might go for a drive, maybe get something to eat.”

He can see her ready to argue, but after a second, she lets it slide. “Okay. Be safe.”

Derek nods his agreement but stops her before she can get out of the car. “Hey, I’m proud of you.”

Arms fly around him and Derek is pulled into a tight embrace. “I love you too.”

They hug for a little while longer but eventually Cora lets go and climbs out of the camaro. She doesn’t look back, just continues to the Hale Mansion front door, opens it and pushes it closed behind her.

Derek makes sure he can hear the clunking of the lock before shifting to reverse and backs out of the long driveway.

Soon the trees whip past so fast that not even his werewolf eyes can keep track of them fading in and out of the car’s headlights. Derek changes slightly, letting his irises dilate neon yellow in case any wildlife decide to run across the rarely traveled highway.

He’s not worried about cars - it’s past midnight and the few Beacon Hills populace awake won’t travel this far into the preserve since tourist season is over and it’s too cold for camping.

As he approaches a large twist, Derek floors it, jerking the steering wheel roughly, tires screening, adrenaline fueling his smile. The camaro fishtails, wheels burning rubber but using his werewolf strength, Derek pulls the car back under control. He’s sped through these backroads for almost a month now and the worst thing to happen was thick dirt caking on the sides. Nothing a car wash and some buffering didn’t cure.

Tonight proves no different.

Once the car is stable, Derek pushes down on the gas pedal going over 90 miles per hour, speeding past empty woods. It’s nothing like running, nothing like crushing dirt beneath paws, breath pulled from heaving lungs. This night speeding is exhilarating in a way the wolf never experiences. It’s completely human. An act that Alpha will never know, something that’s entirely his. Derek can feel himself working up his anger, so he forcibly changes his thoughts to the shadowed land around him.

The Hales have controlled this territory for centuries. Laura will inherit the alpha mantle and Derek is expected to be her First Beta. He won’t ever be able to leave the land -- when Laura has alpha responsibilities that take her out of Beacon Hills, Derek will be the one to manage the pack. He’ll be the first line of defense if something happens. It’s a sombering thought, the realization that he’s going to live and die in this tiny California town.

In high school, all Derek wanted was to see the world. He became an actor because studios would have flown him to Milan, New Orleans, London, Atlanta, maybe even Australia. He could have seen things, tried weird food, maybe even meet someone. But he wasn’t good enough and now Derek’s future is sealed. He’ll be like Peter: 40, alone and bitter.

The engine roars as his renewed anger pushes the him further, faster. Getting to that speed when he can outrun these thoughts.

Suddenly flashing blue lights distract Derek. There must be an emergency in town, so Derek slows down, thinking the cop will pass him. When he doesn’t, Derek slows down even more and pulls the camaro more to the right to allow for more room on the road. He doesn’t want to stop completely, planning to head back home after the cruiser disappears into the night.

But instead of passing, the cop pulls in behind him. Derek curses and slows his car to a stop, shifting to park. He rolls the driver window down and waits for the inevitable.

It takes a couple minutes but eventually one of Beacon Hills’ finest approaches. “License and registration, sir,” he says, voice full of quiet authority. Clearly not a rookie.

“No need to worry, officer,” Derek says with his most charming smile and flashing his eye once. “I’m a werewolf.”

“That’s nice. License and registration.”

Derek stare at the officer for a second. Maybe he doesn’t understand. “Officer, maybe you don’t understand. I’m a werewolf. I can handle it.”

“No sir,” the cop says, tone turning harsh. “You don’t seem to understand. You were going 90 on a state highway. Werewolf or not, you were speeding. Now, license and registration **please**.”

Derek clenches his hands around the steering wheel once before exhaling. He turns to dig in the center console, pulling out his registration and license. He hands both over to the officer and refrains from speaking.

As the cop walks back to his cruiser, Derek takes a deep whiff. Coffee beans, cinnamon and a hint of suppressed arousal mix with oak, animal musk and car exhaust. Letting the scents linger in his nostrils, Derek digs through the layers, focusing on the smell wholly unique to the cop. 

The arousal and coffee bean smell are heavily mixed but the cinnamon isn’t from the man -- no that’s from the snack he’d been eating. Derek picks at the taste of arousal on his tongue, trying to decipher any of meanings hidden. There’s something artificial, like chewed gum or Tylenol. Maybe the officer gets frequent headaches.

Derek shrugs the thought off. It’s not unusual for humans to have a fake feeling to their scents - all that processed sugar and over the counter medication. Consumer enough of something and it's bound to seep into your daily scent. Humans have the misconception that scents are permanent like fingerprints. And while everyone’s scent is unique onto themselves, werewolves know that personal scents change over time. That’s why alpha frequently scent mark pups. At least good alphas.

“Mr. Hale,” the cop days, standing slightly behind his car door, pulling Derek from his thoughts. The cop can clearly see inside the camaro but Derek has to stretch his neck to see him. “Is there a reason you felt the need to go 50 miles over the speed limit?”

“I’m a werewolf,” Derek answers fighting off a wave of agitation. 

“So you’ve said,” the cop replies, traces of a smile forming on his face.

Derek takes the moment to study the man. The dark blue of his uniform blending in with the black of night but, in contrast, his pale face and bone white hands seem to glow in the light of the cruiser's headlights. Through the flashing blue and red lights, Derek can make out a flat nose, plump lips and light brown eyes. Glancing down, Derek reads the officer’s nameplate.

“Officer Stiles,” Derek starts, “I’m a werewolf. That means faster reflexes. I can handle going fast.”

He hears Officer Stiles exhale one long breath before speaking, “Mr. Hale, you’re werewolfdom does not excuse you from the law. If you can’t explain **why** you felt the need to speed, I’m going to have to give you a ticket. Even with your spotless record, you’re looking at a $500 fine and at least 2 points.”

Derek fight off a growl. _500 dollars!_ He doesn’t have that kind of money. He’ll have to borrow from the pack account which means Alpha will find out and she demand they’ll have another one of her “sit-downs” about his future. He sees movement out of the corner of his eye and turns to face the cop again. Before he can say anything, Officer Stiles takes a step back, places one hand on his belt and speaks.

“Sir,” voice full of authority again. “Retrack your claws and depower your eyes.”

Looking down, Derek is surprised to find his claws slicing through the leather on the steering wheel. He’s seen videos of trigger-happy cops tazing werewolves, read first-person accounts of how electricity burns flesh, nerve endings so badly damaged that self-healing is as painful as the initial shock. He never thought something like that could happen in Beacon Hills but on this desert highway, no one would see the attack. No one could intervene.

Derek closes his eyes, forces his breathing to calm, steady inhales and exhales and he concentrates on the shifting exercises he’s done since puberty. _I’m Derek Hale, 28-years-old and I’m in Control. One plus one is two. Two plus two is four. Four plus four is eight. I’m Derek Hale and I’m in Control._

He opens his eyes to see regular, tanned fingers with white crescent nails. Moving slowly, Derek raises his hands and repeatedly turns them 180 degrees, displaying the lack of claws as best as can while sitting in a car. He relaxes his posture to something more friendly, raises an eyebrow to the cop and hopes he doesn’t get arrested.

“Mr. Hale,” Officer Stiles says, “Would you like to come back to the station? We can tow-”

“No!” Derek interrupts, fear creeping up his spine. “Please officer. I’m in control and I won’t speed again.”

“Was tonight about Cora?”

“What?”

“Cora, your sister. She’s leaving for Russia in a week.”

“How do you…” Derek tries to say, scrambling for words to express his confusion.

Officer Stiles gives him a flat look before explaining. “Your mother hasn’t stopped talking about it. I’m surprised she didn’t send out mailers.”

There’s an awkward silence that Officer Stiles fills quickly.

“I know it can be hard when a pack member le- goes away for a period of time -- no matter how brief. You might think driving around is a good way to,” he pauses, “relieve stress, but talking with someone is a healthier, safer alternative. We run a support group every Tuesday, down at the station. Completely anonymous.”

“I don’t-”

“Derek,” Officer Stiles interrupts, voice soft. Almost caring.

Derek fights off another sigh. But if pretending he’s freaking out about Cora will get him out of a $500 ticket, he has no moral gripes about lying. “It’s just…” _fuck_ “hard. She’s going to be gone…” he draws a blank again before quickly saying whatever comes to mind. “For so long...without the pack.”

Oh god. He sounds like an idiot. He looks at the cop’s face, trying to convey the image of a scared older brother.

Officer Stiles smiles kindly, “You know your sister is kind of a badass, right?”

It takes all of Derek’s willpower to stop a smirk from forming. Cora is badass. “Yeah, but…”

“She’ll be okay,” Officer Stiles says, trying to be reassuring. “Why don’t you come to a meeting and we can forget about the ticket.”

Derek nods, relief singing in his bones.

“And the next time you feel anxious, call someone instead of endangering your life,” Officer Stiles says.

He sounds so genuine that Derek nods again. The officer waves once then walks back to his cruiser. He turns the off the flashing red and blue lights, blinkers and starts to drive off. He waves as he passes and Derek fights off a laugh.

Once the cruiser's taillights disappear around a turn, Derek shifts to first and makes an illegal u-turn heading home. He makes sure to stay within the speed limit -- not wanting to get pulled over again -- and thinks about what Officer Stiles said. He’s been back in Beacon Hills for over a year now. Maybe it’s time to make some non-pack friends.


End file.
